Behold, the Mas­ter pass­eth by!
O seest thou not His plead­ing eye?
With low sad voice He call­eth thee,
Leave this vain world, and fol­low Me.

O soul, bowed down with har­row­ing care,
Hast thou no thought for Heav’n to spare?
From earth­ly toils lift up thine eye;
Behold, the Mas­ter pass­eth by!

One heard Him call­ing long ago,
And straight­way left all things be­low
Counting his earth­ly gain as loss
For Je­sus and His bless­èd cross.

That Fol­low Me his faith­ful ear
Seemed ev­ery day afresh to hear;
Its ech­oes stirred his spir­it still,
And fired his hope, and nerved his will.

God gent­ly calls us ev­ery day:
Why should we then our bliss de­lay?
Thou, Lord, e’en now art call­ing me;
I will leave all, and fol­low Thee.